Category: Feel Good Story

Making Type-1 Diabetes my B%&ch…

Anyone who’s read a number of my blog posts will know that it’s pretty clear that Type-1 Diabetes carries a number of complications that can make a person’s life a living hell. The routine stuff, for the most part, has become so routine for me over the past four and half decades that I’m ABLE to call it routine. But there’s no arguing that T1D basically affects absolutely EVERYTHING in one’s life and has an influence on everything I do, from working, sleeping, eating and even my relationships. More on that last one some other time, but the bottom line is that with the exception of organ failure or amputation, I’ve seen it all, done it all and have suffered through it all. By virtue of this, Diabetes has yet to throw something at me that I haven’t met head on and overcome. This was a solemn promise I made to myself in my early teens, when I realized I would need to take my own health in hand in order to live into adulthood.

About ten years ago, a slightly different kind of Diabetic complication landed on my plate. As a matter of routine, I had a yearly ophthalmologist appointment to clear my eyes. This was generally done at the request of the Force, to ensure my vision was clear. I had a particular doctor that I had been seeing for almost five years at this point, so I was a bit surprised when I was met with his partner in the eye clinic, instead. He explained that some patient files had been passed to him as my previous doctor was moving on to different projects. Okay, fair enough. I’ve never been a big fan of changing doctors or even changing meds, when it’s happened. In my experience, doing so almost always results in “rocking the boat,” and basically fucking up the nice, healthy balance I maintain in my life. But it would turn out that this one change would not only lead to the identification of this complication but would lead to its treatment.

During this exam, I was asked if I had noticed my vision blurring. Being a police officer in the field with Diabetes made this a difficult question to answer, given that shift work, fatigue and fluctuating blood sugars would all affect my vision. But as it turned out, I had developed a condition known as Diabetic Macular Edema. For those of you who haven’t read my previous posts, Diabetic Macular Edema is a condition where fluid begins building up behind the back of the eye, around the macula, which is what controls how your vision focuses. When this fluids builds up, it causes swelling at the back of the eye that can lead to all sorts of vision and eyesight complications. The link to a HealthLine post above will provide further context, but this condition usually occurs as the result of poorly controlled or high blood sugars, something that I had in abundance before I took my health in hand. There are a few treatments, including but not limited to laser treatments for the retinopathy aspect (which I’ve had) and injectable medications that teat the swelling, which was what was needed next.

I’m not gonna lie here, folks… I’m usually pretty good at acting like a tough guy, shuffling off scary stuff and ignoring pain. And up to that point, I have had needles in just about every area of my body. Except my fucking eyes! For what was probably the first time in my life, I was frightened of what would come next. Based on the doctor’s explanation, I needed these injections to maintain my eyesight. But I couldn’t ignore the thought of a needle sliding into a part of my body that wasn’t meant to be pierced. I mean, conceptually, NO part of the human body is “meant” to be pierced… But getting a needle in the eyes is something that up to that point, I had only seen in horror movies. One can see how this might have fed my anxiety. Setting my fears aside, I made the appointment, booked the time off work and booked my very first hotel room in the city, since my wife and I had just recently had our first child and she couldn’t join me. I would need to stay in the city overnight since I would be effectively blind, as it relates to operating a vehicle, especially after dark.

That first appointment came with a slew of stress and anxiety, which did nothing to help some of the pre-procedure tests I needed. Did you know that heart rate and stress affects your eye pressure? I sure found out. My vision was a touch below normal, even with normal blood sugars and my prescription glasses on, which prompted further confirmation that I needed this treatment. Once I was in the chair for the injections, the doctor walked me through the steps and proceeded to put eye clamps in to keep my eyesight open. Ever seen the movie “Clockwork Orange?” That messed up scene where they clamp his eyesight open and force him to watch stuff? Picture that, but without the psychological torture. The worst part is that you’re awake, your eyes can move and in fact, you NEED to move them in order to look in a specific direction to allow the doctor to inject into the white part of your eyes. All that build-up and anxiety for it all to be over in about thirty seconds. Reminds me of my teens (if you know, you know). But all jokes aside, it was painful, no question.

What followed was a blur (literally) of booking the next appointment and stumbling my way back across a public park to my hotel. I stretched out on the bed with all the lights closed and tried to nap intermittently as the freezing drops wore off and the full extent of the pain kicked in. For hours after, I could see shapes, colors and general outlines, allowing me to make my way down to the quaint, Irish pub located on the ground floor. I spent my evening there, nursing my pain with the only type of “painkiller” I had available. This had been the routine for the past decade. Now, it’s become such a routine that the sting is almost imperceptible. If it weren’t; for the loss of vision keeping me from driving, I wouldn’t even need to stay in the city afterwards. But in the beginning, i had to get the injections every four weeks and in most cases, some of the swelling had returned by that fourth week. Over time, with better controlled blood sugars (I had recently started pumping therapy around this time), consistent exercise and keeping a firm grip on the reins of my health, those periods began to stretch. Every five weeks, then six, seven and so on. With every new, longer interval, I felt a small twinge of personal victory.

My last appointment was a 14-week interval. It took a long time to get me to that point and it was the longest I’ve gone without getting the injections. Given some recent headaches and blurriness, I fully expected to go in to my appointment with the announcement that some swelling had returned and we needed to claw me back to 13 weeks. But lo and behold, my scans were completely clean. No swelling at all. My doctor opted to push me all the way to 16 weeks, which is the longest interval possible on this medication. If I can make it to 16 weeks without any swelling returning, we’ll be re-assessing my treatment and deciding if I’ll stay at 16 weeks indefinitely, or if I’ll come off the injections entirely, with scheduled follow-ups to ensure the swelling doesn’t return. Needless to say and right before the holidays, this makes for one of the best Christmas gifts I could imagine getting.

The bottom line and despite that this is good news, the point of today’s post is to illustrate that when one takes heir own health in hand, in tandem with properly trained medical practitioners, they can make a significant difference in the maintenance of one’s health and the potential outcome of certain treatments. While I fully admit that there are things that simply can’t be healed or treated, there’s a lot that can and it’s important to give yourself and your body the best fighting chance to be in good health and live a happy life. For myself, and as much as I’ve been enjoying my little Irish pub, I’ll certainly look forward to a break from traveling and being away from home overnight. And, you know, getting fuckin’ needles in my eyes… Food for thought… ☯️

November 2025

Well, here we are again. In a few days, November 1st will be upon us and this means that I will start growing out a ‘satchel for Movember. I do this every year and I also seek out donations, every year. It’s been several years where I’ve done it as part of a team, either during my time with the RCMP or since moving on to my current role. In my current role, we hit the ground running in 2021 with a team that was pretty committed and we raised over $500 just among ourselves. During 2022, the allure and gimmick of joining Movember flickered out, and we only raised just shy over $400. Last year and in 2023, I pretty much threw in the towel in terms of having a team effort and recognized I was once again walking this road alone. So, why do I keep doing it? This, dear readers, is the important question…

During the month of November, I set aside my reluctance to ask others for anything, and begin asking donations to support Movember. While the usual trend includes growing a resplendent mustache through the month and posting before and after photos, I always take it one step farther and grow out an entire beard (much to my wife’s dismay). By the end of November, I look more like a yeti than my usual self, but charity means sacrifice, so the scratchy face can be managed for the period of one calendar month. As I do every year, I should probably explain what the hell Movember is, and why it’s so important.

Movember is a registered charity in Canada that holds an annual challenge as a way to raise funds and awareness for prostate and testicular cancer, which is diagnosed in more than 1.4 million men globally, each year. While I have participated as part of a team in recent years, this year, I will be tackling it alone. Despite this obstacle, I’m keeping my previous year’s goal of $500 and feel that this is easily achievable, if I have a few kind readers who would be willing to pitch in a small amount. Even a little help can go a long way and any donation you make will do just that. We live in a society of increasing costs, inflation and increased cost of living, so I fully understand that times are tight for everyone. But I really can’t oversell how important this cause is. The cause is near and dear to me, especially since my beloved, departed grandfather had prostate cancer. Even the smallest donation you make can help with the bottom line.

Donating has never been easier. You can donate directly online by visiting the Movember website and clicking on the black “Donate” button at the top of the screen. Search under “Find a Person or Team“ and type in “Shawn Arlington Cook” and you should find me easily. Not sure why my ugly mug doesn’t appear as my profile pic, but you can scroll through the photos and see it. Fill out the donation form and you’ve done your part. You can even get a tax receipt, if needed or wanted. I don’t wander social media much and I never ask anything of others, so I’m hoping I’ll have a few people on my friends list and contacts, my blog readers and some family, who will help and contribute to this very important cause. Here’s the webpage: Movember Canada. No pressure and no expectation on my part. But I will be sincerely thankful and appreciative for any donation or contribution that anyone makes. 🙏 ☯️

Sometimes, Nature Knows…

About three years ago, I had an interesting incident that took place on my property. My family and I live on a small residential lot in Regina, Saskatchewan. It’s a quiet neighborhood, free of any commercial or industrial districts with the exception of some schools. I guess those aren’t necessarily in either of those categories but my point is, people don’t generally come into our neighborhood unless they live there or are visiting someone. As a result, we have an abundance of wildlife, including but not limited to rabbits, large squirrels and plenty of domesticated cats who have full advantage of wandering the neighborhood unbothered (for the most part). For me, the concept of seeing large rabbits just chilling on my front lawn has always been a point of fascination, since it was something I rarely saw in New Brunswick. We have them; they simply aren’t quite as visible as they seem to be here.

The incident I’m referring to from three years ago, involved a mother rabbit and her two babies being attacked by a large bird on our front lawn. One baby was killed, the mother fled and one baby hid under the wheel of my recycling bin. It was wedged under there, stuck and frightened. I temporarily took it under my care until I turned it loose when I spotted a group of three adult rabbits wandering the front lawn. I named him Fluffernut, although I can’t even confirm that it was male. I got a lot of backlash and hate for my actions, which not only caught me by surprise but as a strong believer in putting good out into the world, I felt I had done something right, even if the nay-sayers felt that I hadn’t. You can read about this interaction here. And here’s a photo of the little guy, hours before I released him back into the wild.

Fluffernut

A short while later, I was visited by a slightly larger rabbit that had some of the same color patterns and approached my son and I while we were inside the garage. Considering a rabbit’s fur and shading will change over time and with the seasons, I had no way of truly knowing if this was the same rabbit I had helped. But given that it was following my son and I around and accepted some Timothy hay and seeds without seeming scared or skittish around us, suggested that it had some familiarity with us. Maybe I was just romanticizing the notion. Who know? My point is, I feel that sometimes natures knows. And if you put good out into the world, good will often find you. A day or two ago, the same type of occurrence happened. And part of me can’t bring myself to believe that EVERY rabbit in my neighborhood is capable of approaching me without fear or dashing off as soon as I move.

So on Tuesday night, I was sitting quietly in my garage, polishing my work shoes and puffing on a semi-decent cigar. Once I had a few coats of polish on the shoes and they were looking decent, I set everything aside and started doing something light gaming on my iPad. I have a batch of daily crosswords and puzzles that I like to do in order to keep the mind sharp. Suddenly, a very large, light-haired rabbit hopped into view at the mouth of the garage and sat for several minutes, quietly staring at me with its dark, beady eyes. I felt entranced, and didn’t dare move for fear of scaring it off. After a few minutes, it slowly and calmly hopped into my back yard. Nathan came out, presumably having seen the rabbit from his bedroom window. I asked him not to scare it and to slowly retreat back to the house. Several minutes later, it approached the garage again. It sat the open mouth of the garage, watched me for a time, nibbled on some of the weeds sprouting from the seam in the garage door and even took a few steps INTO the garage.

I didn’t dare move and I barely breathed but I once again found myself wondering, Is this Fluffernut??? Probably not, but I can’t help but feel that nature knows. Maybe it was. Maybe he remembers and occasionally visits. The nay-sayers would say no. The beauty part is, thinking it doesn’t make it so but believing it makes me smile, so it can’t be all bad, right? All I know is I would have been unwilling to accept letting that little ball of fluff die needlessly, that day. Nature or not, nurture sometimes needs a win. And I felt I delivered that, back in the summer of 2022. Food for thought… ☯️

Whatever Happened To The Good Ol’ Days…?

We’ve all been there. You say or do something during your youth that elicits a roll of the eyes or a look of disdain by one of your elders, followed by one of the dreaded sentences that make your youthful eyes glaze over and threaten to close. “In my day, we would have never…” or “Kids these days!” were some of the more prominent ones I heard in my youth. It’s a pretty common thing, to have your parents or grandparents compare how they would have done things in their youth as opposed to how you did it. Or point out the various things they WOULDN’T have dared to do or that were impolite or improper during their time. We always find these comments annoying when we’re young and if you’re anything like me, you likely swore up and down that you would never be that way when you had children. And then you have kids. And given that they’re of a newer generation, their habits, opinions and views on the world are inevitably different from your own. And so it should be.

The world is not what it was 30 years ago when I was a teenager. In my youth, there were no smart phones and mobile phones involved a large bagged device that had to be plugged into your car lighter. Even when we had curfews, my parents had no way of contacting me to tell me to get my ass home. I could hop on my bike and pedal until my legs gave out and my folks would never know just how far I’d gone or what I’d been up to (unless I got caught doing something). My generation didn’t spend hours on end with electronic devices in our hands or binge-watching hours worth of television. I say this with full awareness that I’m currently blogging through an electronic device. But the most prominent thing that you never did, at least when I was a kid, was turn your nose up at a birthday or Christmas present. In my youth, even if you wanted and/or expected a particular gift or thing, you smiled, said thank you and made the best of what you got; even if it wasn’t what you wanted. The only exception was if you were given socks, underwear or clothing. That is some bullshit, right there… What kid wants SOCKS for their birthday. Am I right??? But I digress…

All of this stems from the fact that I have now become the older generation who comments on today’s youth. What’s most disturbing is I never saw it coming. Once I had children, it was all down hill from there. The disdain for their behaviors and perspectives, comparison to the lack of respect or the dismissal of responsibilities… While I thought I would never be the kind of parent who would replicate these behaviors from the older generation, I’ve taken stock only to realize that I am fully immersed in “old man syndrome,” commenting about how I never would have dared to say such things to my father, in response to my youngest’s birthday, which was last weekend. I didn’t realize how deeply like my father I had become until the words came out of this little bastard’s mouth…

My son Alexander, sporting the youth size boxing gloves he received on his birthday.

On Sunday, we celebrated my little Alexander the Great’s sixth birthday. We had a fun weekend of doing all the things he wanted to do, which included lunch and play place time at McDonald’s (in and of itself no longer a cheap option for a family of four), followed by a couple of hours at the Science Centre (yes, the same Science Centre from the incident in yesterday’s post). I thought we did a pretty good job of accommodating his special day. My wife made him a homemade chocolate cake, which he got o help and decorate. We got him two gifts. The first was the set of youth boxing gloves seen in the photo above. Believe it or not, finding a small pair of gloves that would accommodate his hands was tougher than one would think. Before I had kids, I used to see 8 ounce boxing gloves all over the place. Think I can find them, now that I need them??? Of course not! But the gloves will be handy in helping him to train safely while doing karate workouts with daddy. This will save potential injury from using oversized gloves or even throwing bare-knuckled punches on the pads before his wrists strengthen and his technique gets smoother.

The second gift is a pretty cool one, if I do say so myself. He loves to make hideouts and forts using blankets and chair and whatever else he finds, while hanging out in the basement with me. I got him a polyester tent that has small tunnels that offshoot from the sides and bring him to two, smaller tents on either end. A couple of quick blankets over the top of the tents and he has a contained fort that he can drag blankets and his iPad inside, snack and his water bottle and chill out on his own, hidden away safely from “bad guys.” I thought these gifts were reasonably well thought out and I was looking forward to seeing him get excited and enjoy the gifts he’d gotten. We’ve never been a household for showering dozens of gifts on any of us, believing that this isn’t the inherent purpose of a given holiday. A simple gift or two is enough. But the disappointed and despondent look on his face as he asked the question, “Are there any more presents?” caused a variety of emotional responses in me.

Alex said knock you out!

At first, I was angry and disappointed at the selfishness coming from the child I was raising. In what world is it okay to have your parents spend time, money and effort in doing all of these things for your birthday, only to have you question why you didn’t get more? Where’s the respect? Where’s the appreciation? In my day, we would have smiled, nodded and been happy to make the most of the gifts we received instead of wondering where everything else is hiding. When asked why he wasn’t happy with what he’d gotten, he pointed out that he’d apparently listed a number of things he wanted for his birthday in recent months. Well, fuck… My wife and I exchanged a look with each other but neither of us could recall him naming the things that he did. Was this on us? I’m open-minded enough to believe it’s a possibility. Maybe I just didn’t do a good enough job of listening to what my child wanted. Maybe I’m being too harsh in my view of his reactions. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m right and he should be grateful for what he’s got…

Once I had a night to sleep on it (and after he’d set up his fort and realized he was having fun), I started thinking it may be more of the former than the latter. While a birthday isn’t intended to be a free-for-all for as much stuff as one can get, it might have been nice if I’d gotten him something that he actually WANTED. I think he might have enjoyed his birthday a little better if his immediate response to his gifts was disappointment, even if he’s enjoying them now that he’s using them. A big part of adulthood is working to recognizing that our children, while smaller and lacking some of the knowledge to know better, are still people with their own feelings, views and thoughts on things. While they may not always align with ours, they still have validity, in certain areas. It’s what allows us, as adults, to come full circle and realize that our parents may have been right with the comments they made in our youth. I just wonder if they ever reached the realization that it isn’t always about the previous generation and that as humans, adapting to the times that come is nearly as important as remembering where we came from. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. He’ll likely forget all of this after the first few hook punches land next time we train. Food for thought… ☯️

Here We Go Again, The Aftermath…

I mean, is it really the aftermath if I haven’t gotten home yet? I’m gonna say it is, because I have a couple of hours to kill and nothing to do. My travel from Campbellton to Moncton yesterday was pretty uneventful. I hit the city around 1:30-ish and since check in time at most hotels is 3 pm, I decided to kill some time by walking around Champlain Place, one of the largest malls in New Brunswick. I wandered for all of about forty minutes before I started getting bored. I would have loved to have grabbed a slice of pizza at the food court but the lines were very not Shawn-esque. I figured I would simply check in at the hotel then reassess as to where I could grab a small meal before my pre-flight slumber. Check in was a okay, despite there being only one person working the counter with several people waiting. One plus is that I’m apparently an IHG member, which I wasn’t aware of. I’m sure I would have been aware at the time when I got it but apparently I had forgotten.

The nice part about being an IHG Rewards member is I got a free room upgrade and treated to some complimentary waters and snacks. My name was written on a board at the entrance, welcoming me to the hotel. I mean, it was written with about a dozen other people so it’s not like I was singled out or anything. But it was still cool. I enjoy getting things just as much as the next person, but being upgraded to a king bed suite is something that would be nicer if I had my wife with me. I’m all alone; what do I need with a king sized bed instead of a queen? Once I ditched all my stuff in the room, I made my way to a gas station, conveniently in the same parking lot, and ensured my rental car’s tank was full. Then, and because I’m cheap, I hit up McDonald’s (also in the same parking lot). By 4 o’clock, I was in the room, in pajamas and watching Big Bang Theory on the big screen.

My alarm obediently pissed me off this morning at 3 am, which prompted me to hit the ground running and grab a shower, shave, ditch the toiletries and disposable extras I had purchased for the trip and make my way to the airport. Now, I’m seated here in a quasi-empty terminal waiting a bit more than an hour and a half for my flight to board. According to all indications, my flight is scheduled to be on time. This is good news, considering I received a rather disturbing email last night that Air Canada’s cabin crew union was planning job action today and several flights have already been canceled. One would think that potentially being grounded in one’s home province would be a pleasant surprise. But that’s the big issue, isn’t it? And something I realized the hard way during my time here… New Brunswick isn’t my home anymore. Saskatchewan is. That’s where my home, my family and my life are. New Brunswick has simply become the place I go to in order to visit my parents. And even that prospect is quickly slipping away.

The first leg of my trip sees me fly to Montreal; an approximate 40-minute flight. Then, I’ll have about an hour and a half’s layover in the Montreal Terminal. I usually prefer Toronto, since there are actual food options and snacks available. Montreal’s departure terminal is usually pretty bare and doesn’t have many options for anything to eat. Considering I left the hotel before the ass crack of dawn and the longest stretch from Montreal to Regina is about 4 hours, that’s a hell of a long time to go without food. Even WITH Ozempic stemming my appetite. Granted, It’s Friday morning and my injection is patiently waiting for me at home in Regina. I’m rather surprised that my hunger hasn’t already started to make a selfish appearance. That’s the beauty of stress from traveling, I guess. One way or another, I”ll survive. So long as both my flights are on time, I should get home just before lunch.

Considering I titled this post as an aftermath, here is where I take the time to reflect on my week in New Brunswick and what I did and didn’t accomplish. I didn’t manage to communicate with my father. He slept each time I popped in and the one time I tried to rouse him from sleep, it didn’t work. Staff are supposed to let him know I’ve been visiting over recent days. I saw my mother three times. In one instance, I was able to have an open conversation with her about non-specific or memory related matters. She was clam enough but distant and not engaged. My uncle had warned me that this was the state she was at. Seeing her limited to a wheelchair is likely what struck me hardest. Once a proud woman who prided herself on caring for others now had nothing left in her life but having strangers take care of her. I confirmed both parents’ funeral arrangements, because THAT’s what one wants to be doing during a vacation, and obtained the pertinent paperwork for my parents that should allow me to put through my information request for my father. In the months to come, I hope to get at least SOME explanation behind his paralysis. I never thought it would be so fuckin’ difficult simply knowing what had happened to a member of my family.

On the positive side, I got to spend some time with some old and important friends; the ones who are still in the area and have always been supportive and welcoming when I’ve come home. I got to sit and converse with Sensei, whom I consider to be not only a mentor but a second father. Speaking with him made me feel a bit better about things, albeit for only a brief time. I got the chance to see Guillaume who, even if we saw each other in May, was a pleasure to chat with and catch up. Our conversations are like taking a trip back to 1996; we still have the same personalities, attitudes and tone to our stories. I got to spend some time with Ricky and Sam, shares some meals and shoot some pool; something I never do in Regina, even if we have pool halls. And of course, I got to have a couple of sit downs with my uncle, without whom none of the care for my parents would be possible. All in all, there was some positive.

Now, as I sit here alone and contemplating, the realization has set in that this will likely be the last time i return to New Brunswick with the exception of funerals. It feels like the chapter has completely closed. I’d like to say I have a heavy heart or am saddened by the prospect but in reality, I’m rather numb and uncertain how to feel about it. I’m sure it’ll hit me sometime later, at the worst and most inconvenient time. But for now and since I still have an hour to wait for my first flight, I need to go find some caffeine. TSA made me leave my can of energy drink behind. Dictators. I totally get it but that shit is expensive. And a cold, carbonated beverage isn’t exactly something you can shotgun on the fly. Such is life. So this marks the end of this little travel series of posts. For any of you who may have been thinking “Fuck this shit! All this guy writes about is traveling and sad family crap…” Don’t away yet. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled Buddhist karateka posts soon enough. Keep reading, friends… ☯️

Here We Go Again, Part 6…

Yesterday was actually a reasonably good day. As mentioned yesterday, I woke up, did some quick laundry, grabbed a brief lunch and then traveled to Bathurst to visit Sensei’s son, Guillaume. Instead of simply jumping on Highway 11 and taking the 1-hour rip to his place, I opted instead to use secondary Highway 134, or what we used to call the “Old Highway.” It added about half an hour to the transit time but the view was spectacular. The entire route is coastal, with open views of the Restigouche Bay opening up into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Some beautiful houses and old churches, schools and properties, it was almost a meditative drive of sorts, lending some peace to the stress I’ve felt all week. I reached Bathurst shortly after the lunch hour and made a couple of stops, used the restroom and grabbed a drink, then made my way to Middle River.

I have to admit, Guillaume has a pretty sweet setup. He built his own compound, including a main house, a smaller dormitory for his daughter, which is separate from the house, a large, industrial garage that houses tractors and industrial equipment used to maintain the property, and apartment for his two sons above the garage. He has a private road, bee hives, vegetable crops and absolutely no cell phone signal. He has his own maintained WiFi, but cell phones don’t work on his property. The entirety of the property is beautiful and impressive. In hindsight, I kind of wish I had photographed it, or even taken a video to post on my YouTube channel. I spent a couple of hours in good conversation and pleasant company. Just me, Guillaume and his three large but friendly dogs.

Once I left Bathurst, I drove back to Campbellton by way of the main highway. I made it back in under an hour. Now, I faced a choice… With nothing to do with my evening, I could either go catch a 7 pm movie at the local theatre or, given that I had only gotten about five or six hours’ sleep the night before, I could go grab a quick burger to eat in the room and crash early. I opted for the latter. I sat and munched away on my custom McChicken with cheese (don’t judge) and binge watched some Flash on Netflix until my eyes grew heavy. Then, I unceremoniously dumped myself into the bed and fell into a deep, air conditioned oblivion. Although not in any hurry and with an alarm set for 9 am, I awoke on my own around 6 am. Even when I’m on vacation, I can’t seem to sleep in. Such is life.

Since I was up, I started the caffeination process, including but not limited to grabbing a hot shower and throwing on some clothes. I packed up the room, where I had been laying my head since my late arrival Saturday evening, and made my way down to the front desk. I dropped off my key cards and jumped into my rental vehicle. Now, I”m enjoying a sausage & egg McMuffin and a water, the only meal I’ll likely consume until late tonight (thanks, Ozempic) before getting on the road for the long, 4-hour trek to Moncton, where I will spend the night before hopping the first of two flights that will bring me home tomorrow. I expect my evening will be pretty peaceful. Some gaming to work through my daily puzzles and crosswords and maybe a bit of streaming. I can’t wait to get home. It will be good to be back with my wife and sons. ☯️

A Little Sunshine To Your Day…

I notice that I often tend to post about some of the darker, more negative aspects of things, especially when it comes to Diabetes. Sometimes, it’s important to take a moment to reflect on some of the good, which plays a huge role in eliminating the suffering in one’s life. For myself, that the creation of life from nothing, specifically in the form of flowers. I love flowers. Live flowers, that is. Not the purchased ones. In fact, if memory serves me, my very post on this blog a number of years ago was a post about some of the floral life back in New Brunswick.

My flower bed

The irony is that I have very little in terms of a green thumb and in the past several years, I’ve made efforts to try and grow flowers in my backyard. I have small brick circle that used to house a tree. The tree had already been cut and removed when we bought the house but the circle remained. In years past, I’ve thrown some seed in there with very little success. In fact, I’ve usually had more weeds than flowers growing.

Bright colours…

But this year, I took a nuclear (not literally) approach. I started by thoroughly tilling the soil then sifting out weeds, root systems and debris from the dead tree from the ground. I probably worked my way down about three or four inches. Then, I added in some nutrient rich potting soil, mixed with some fertilizers. I sprinkled a variety of flower seed all around the circle and worked it into the soil. Added a bit more potting soil on top, watered consistently and waited.

It’s been well over a month and a half and while patience is a virtue, some greenery started to pop up without any indication of flowers. I began to wonder if I was perhaps stuck with another year of weeds and no flowers. But lo and behold, about a week ago, some flowers finally started to bloom. I think I may have overcrowded the circle a bit; an important lesson to bear in mind for next year. But the flowers are starting to bloom and provide a sanctuary for some of the pollinators in the area.

Some people see growing flowers as a wasted activity. After all, they all die come the end of the season, then you find yourself working just as hard to foster them up the following spring. While some of this is true, it’s not just about the bloom but the journey. There’s a bit of a meditative aspect to planting and growing. And there’s little more that’s quite as satisfying as growing beautiful flowers in your own backyard. We also included some light vegetables this year. It’s a wholesome and pleasant at-home activity for my whole family. ☯️

Review: Superman (2025) – Some Spoilers

As with just about everything I review, be warned that I WILL be discussing aspects of the film and its plot; so if you haven’t seen the movie yet and intend on doing so, you may want to stop reading here. In all honesty, I’m not an overly big fan of all the reboots that have been happening in the past ten years. Some of the “continuations” are pretty slid, Cobra Kai being one of the best examples that come to mind. instead of rebooting the movie series, they took it upon themselves to continue the story from the 1980’s, effectively introducing a new generation of people to the wonder that is the Karate Kid and the martial arts. I’ve even heard that Tremors (1990) is getting a limited series where Kevin Bacon returns to the town of Perfection to face the graboids again. Not a reboot, per se. But I digress…

Enter: the new Superman film… Like most people, I’m a huge henry Cavill fan and felt that Zack Snyder did a wonderful job of providing that Superman that was both powerful yet susceptible to damage. I genuinely enjoyed Dawn of Justice and the Justice League. Bear in mind that I’m from the Christopher Reeve generation and believe that he is the one and only, true Superman. But henry Cavill fit the role wonderfully. So, I was sceptical when David Corenswet was annouced as the new Man of Tomorrow. I decided not to join the nay-sayers and opted to reserve judgement, good or bad, until I had the opportunity to see the film myself. I’m most pleased to say that I had a “me” date last Tuesday and had the opportunity to watch the film in all its iMax splendor.

Other than the fact that I absolutely LOVE iMax for its huge screen, surround sound and 3D options, I can go on record as saying that I absolutely enjoyed the movie. Superman provided a Man of Steel that was a bit less seasoned, younger and a bit more campy than most other films. I like how they omitted the whole “this-is-where-I’m-from” business, since everyone and their fuckin’ dog know who Superman is. I think we’re decades beyond providing the origin story and departure from a dying Krypton. Nathan Fillion’s portrayal of Guy Gardner’s Green Lantern added some much-enjoyed levity to the plot, and Edi Gathegi’s Mr. Fantastic was spot on. As someone who has read all the iterations, the originals, the New 52, Rebirth, etc… I feel that the film did the Superman mythos justice.

The film opens with Superman crashing into the antarctic snow, battered and bruised. he whistles and calls for Krypto, his trusted Kryptonian canine, to drag him back to the Fortress of Solitude. Once there, the fortress droids use focusing lenses to bombard Superman in yellow Sun energy, healing several brutal injuries that would take forever to heal on their own. The film goes on to explore a lot of modern issues, such as oversees conflicts, political climates, global domination plans and a bit of sci-fi thrown into the mix. Superman’s relationship with Lois is less than the picture-perfect portrayal from the comics. In fact, she suggests at one point that their relationship m,ay not work out.

The Superman from this film is fallible, can be injured and isn’t the all-powerful juggernaut that I’ve come to know and love from my youth. In a way, it’s a bit more on the realistic side and provides a bit more of a relatable character. They certainly delve deep into the modern rhetoric, where everyone has their damn cell phone out, taking photos, bowing to social convention and the pack mentality. The best, is Nicholas Hoult’s portrayal of Lex Luthor. Hoult was pretty solid in the X-men movies with James McAvoy and he played a great zombie in “Warm Bodies.” The recent “Renfield” movie wasn’t worth writing about but he played an absolutely spot on Lex Luthor. Including his unflappable cool, immeasurable logic and intelligence mixed with the genius plans… It smacked of everything Lex Luthor is all about.

In the end, Superman saves the day, defeats and exposes Lex Luthor and shows the world he is the hero they need and deserve. It’s a definite feel good ending that’s sorely lacking in the modern trend of allowing the bad guy to win as some sort of shock and awe tactic for the audience. If you’re looking for a great film, with exciting characters, great effects and a happy ending, Superman may just be the movie for you. And of course, if you have the opportunity to see it in iMax, it’s the only way to fly. Pun fully intended…

The Uncertainties of Life, The F$%kin’ Aftermath…

I wasn’t certain that I would bother posting this, but given that there is a quasi-happy outcome to it, I figured, why not? Plus, it’s my fuckin’ blog so if you don’t want to read, just scroll right on by. Okay, rant over. So, as some of you who have read my posts in the past week are aware, I found myself caught in an unfortunate emergency trip back to New Brunswick to see to my father, who was admitted to the ICU with pneumonia and a fungal infection in his lungs, rendering him incapable of breathing on his own.

The first thing that came as a surprise to me is that he allowed himself to be intubated. My father has been waiting to die for well over a decade now, living his life in chronic pain and relegated to a wheelchair. He hasn’t had any measurable quality of life for years and as a result, every time he gets sick, he usually gets angry when he recovers. He’s also in his mid-70’s, which adds a layer of ornery to the mix. I get all my anger instincts from him. The second surprise was that the hospital had no knowledge of my existence and without proof of my identity, would tell me nothing over the phone. Apparently, living on the other side of the country didn’t sway them at all.

Hence, my impromptu trip back to the Maritimes. I’ve already walked you through what went down through the days that I was home, so I won’t rehash all of that. The morning of my departure, I visited my father one last time before starting the 3-hour trip down to Moncton to catch my flight. Still sedated and intubated, I consulted the doctor who updated me on his condition and that he would likely be that way for days to come. By virtue of this, I made the decision to carry out my travel plans and return home. There was nothing else for me to do there and I was of no help. So, I travelled home.

Setting aside flight delays, fighting through crowds in Toronto Pearson Airport and exhaustion. I got home in the early hours of last Thursday morning. On Friday morning, I received a phone call from the hospital advising that my father was taken off sedation and they removed the intubation. He was now breathing on his own and was now starting the rehab necessary to allow him to swallow on his own and complete his antibiotic regimen to fight off the infection. I missed him by just shy over twenty four hours.

I asked the staff if he knew I had been there. They offered to let him know so I passed on that he should be told I was with him for three days, had checked in on mom repeatedly and that all he needed to worry about was recovering. If anything changed or help was needed, I was to be called immediately. They agreed they’d pass on the message and let him know. It’s a difficult thing, recognizing when one has reached the point in life where one must care for one’s parents in much the same manner as they care for you. But we all get there.

I’m not surprised that my father recovered. He’s the only man I know who’s even more stubborn than I am. I’m also not surprised when he advised medical staff that regardless of his condition, he would not be consenting to intubation ever again, come what may. True to form, he was pissed to wake up and find himself well and alive, which is consistent with how he’s been for the past few years. I would have liked to have been there when he woke. Maybe if I still lived in New Brunswick, that might have happened. But you know what they say, we most often find our destiny on the road we least thought to travel.

I can take comfort in the fact that at least for the moment, my father is alive and recovering and should soon be making his way back to the care home to be with my mother. Despite how much of her mind is gone, she definitely hasn’t forgotten him and is looking forward to seeing him back home. ☯️

Merry Christmas

Once again we’ve come to that time of year. There’s snow on the ground, a chill in the air and people take pride in decorating their homes, Christmas trees and laying gifts at their base. When I was a boy, the growing anticipation and excitement of Christmas was palpable. My mother would cook and bake up a storm. As the eldest daughter of seven siblings, Christmas was almost always hosted at our home. There would be the opening of “just one gift” on Christmas Eve. Because my mother’s side of the family were Catholic, we always had midnight mass. So I would usually struggle to stay awake klong enough to get through a church service. While I would have loved to have torn into gifts when we got home, it would usually be all I could manage to fall into bed.

The following morning would be a flood of food, family and raucous fun. I would get to see aunts, uncles and my grandparents. We would open presents, share cards and enjoy each other’s company. It was loud and tiring. Not in a bad way, mind you. But there was a measurable heat in the home, considering the number of people present. I’ve never been much of one for crowds, even as a child. By early afternoon, I would usually retreat to my room with my stash of presents to open and play with everything. It was always a glorious day. Some of my best memories include getting He-Man’s Castle Grayskull, my original Cabbage Patch Kid (I can’t remember his name) and even the first year I got the original Nintendo GameBoy when it came out in the early 90’s. I must have spent countless hours on Super Mario Land.

Life has changed for me significantly since those early Christmases. Gifts generally hold very little meaning for me, preferring a quiet day at home with my wife and sons. While I still observe the tradition of giving gifts for their sake, the value and the real gift for me is knowing I have a safe home, warm environment and a loving wife and sons that are tolerable. Kidding, they’re a’ight… But seriously, at some point one must come to realize the real value of life and what truly is a gift, is knowing that you never have to be alone (unless you want to). Sitting on the couch watching Home Alone or smelling some Christmas baking while knowing you can hug your toddler or talk video games with your oldest means far more to me than anything wrapped one could receive.

I’ve been lucky enough that I’m in a position in life that I could take the week off from work this week. Not everyone can be so lucky. yet another gift that means far more. Being able to stay home and engage in some self-care and spend further time with my wife is my real gift this year. Hopefully, y’all have something similar that make you just as rich as I am. Money and gifts mean nothing. It’s the people in my life, the ones who made me a husband, made me a father, that matter during Christmas. So to all of you out there, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and best wishes to you and your family, regardless of what traditions or holidays you may be celebrating during this time of year. Be safe, stay warm and remember what’s most important during this time of year. 🎄